


Father and Mother

by theGirlwithtoomanyOTPs



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Original Character(s), POV First Person, implied!NaruHina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4077313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theGirlwithtoomanyOTPs/pseuds/theGirlwithtoomanyOTPs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I am proud to be theirs.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father and Mother

**Author's Note:**

> because NejiTen is love <3

My mother is a kunoichi.

My father is a shinobi.

I, too, will become a ninja of the Leaf and nobody would contest to that.

My clan is prestigious and hard working as well as gifted. Father was one of the best. A model in a sea of numerous pairs of same featureless white eyes like my own. An orphan, he had nothing but duty. He was a legend in the world.

Mother came from an immigrant family. A first generation shinobi. We visit their graves sometimes, as they have all died from different wars, leaving Mother alone, save for her team and Father. Mother was a true kunoichi. With no heritage or bloodline gifts, she relied on her own. Dedicated, fierce, passionate and absolutely ruthless in battle. She is a protector of Konoha.

I want to be a ninja so I can be like them; protectors.

People may think that our family is probably not as _homey_ as others', given my parents, they have never been more wrong.

Yes, Father and Mother trained incessantly. They carried out missions in a timely, orderly and deadly precision. They do not hold hands or kiss or touch.

But I know how much love they have underneath the surface.

When I was four, still in the early stages of practising my kata while Father watched on with what might have seemed to be heavy commentations, I fell and hurt myself. Father, the man who would barely break sweat in the face of being outnumbered by deadly enemies, whose face was an absolute calm against countless storms, swept me in his arms and demanded a medic-nin attend to me right away for some small scratch.

When I was six, I found out that Mother crept in my room at night when I sleep and tuck me in, singing foreign songs and kiss me good night. She'd resorted to doing this since I told her that I didn't think six year old shinobi-in-the-making get good night kisses and Father said that I was a little man on my own. I didn't have the face to tell her I wanted to take it back after the first few nights without her. But I was happy to find out she never stopped.

When I was ten, I saw my mother's hair down for the first time. Her hair was fine, long and framed her face gently. She was sleeping on Father's bare chest with his arms wrapped protectively and possesively around her, lips close to her forehead. I heard her murmur in her sleep his name and like an afterthought I saw soon after my father smile gently in his own slumber. After that, all I see of them are meaningful stares and gentle and sure touches. Smiles that have different meanings and silence heavy with unspoken conversations between them.

When I was twelve and failed my first chuunin exam, I came home, ashamed and worn out, having practised my techniques late into the night immediately after my defeat. Mother smiled at me so warmly and announced she had drawn a bath and that there was food in the kitchen. She traced my cheek, looking at me with distant eyes then embraced me, whispering how proud she was.

After my bath, I found Father sitting outside my bedroom, staring out into the garden. I approached him and kneeled worshipfully for his forgiveness. I didn't know what else to do. I'd disappointed him. I lost. In this world, if you lost, you sustain deadly injury, at best, you live, injured for the rest of your life. But shinobi would rather die than live without being shinobi.

"Up, Taro."

He'd never raised his voice to me nor Mother. Not once. I felt shame well up my heart.

I didn't even deserve my name. _Great son_. It had to be some kind of joke.

I couldn't look at him and hung my head low, face hidden behind my hair. A mixture of his long fine hair and her colors. I couldn't stop the prickling feeling. Tears of weakness.

"Taro. You did well," Father said quietly. "But you aren't going to win from _Boruto_ just like that. He is an Uzumaki. The son of the Seventh and your Aunt. They're powerful ninjas. And so your cousin is strong and an evolution of both his parents. As are you. You'll become chuunin. But you'll need to train some more, Taro."

I thought it was a reprimand and it hurt. Like someone stabbed me and screamed I wasn't good enough. And it hurt because it was true.

"I will, Father." I whispered so he wouldn't hear the shaking that I felt that I was sure would come out of my voice. "I shall not fail you and Mother again."

_"A Fool's promise."_

I winced at his words.

There was a long beat of silence.

"You have never failed us, my son."

My eyes flew wide open, staring unto the wooden floor, in disbelief. Father was... Father was...?

"If you wish to be better, you could always ask our help," Father continued without missing a beat. "We may be old and not as young as we had once been, but we can still train you. Just because you've graduated from the Academy doesn't mean you can't ask for our help anymore. We want to help you, too. Make you stronger. Your Mother is probably itching to do it right now as we speak."

I looked up to him, tears flowing and kneeled once more, humbly begging for... for...

"I am no Lord or God, son," he sighed. "Get up."

I stayed there on my knees, looking at him with pleading eyes, not even sure why.

"We love you as you are, Taro. We wouldn't change anything and we would have you all over again." He did not smile and his tone was cold and yetit felt like  warmth itself. "Don't think for a second that you can do anything that will make us love you less."

He stood up fluidly, with more grace than I will ever see from anybody in this world.

"See to it that you'll have time aside for training sessions with me and your Mother. I'll talk to your Sensei if need be. Now go sleep or your Mother will hang me for keeping you up."

I watched him leave with unwavering and tearing eyes.

Later on I heard them whispering.

"Oh so _I'm_ the one stuck to training him? You go cook dinner from tomorrow on, then!"

Mother's tone was teasing. Like she was still young and just wanted to mess with Father.

Father made no response. He was no cook. I could imagine him looking tense through the other side of the shoji.

She laughed softly. "Come here, you..."

The shoji to their room slid open and close soon after.

No matter what people said, their warm and quiet love felt more true than boisterous and exuberant ones I've seen from everyone elses. Including their friends.

I want that someday. Quiet and strong affection that needn't to be proven to anyone else.

In the calm of the night, Father and Mother knew and proved it to each other. They didn't even need words.

I am proud to be theirs.


End file.
